Never Knew I Needed You
by Cassidy Ann Merit
Summary: Her name is Darcie Richards. Her mother was Kathryn Holmes. Upon the death of Darcie's father, she is sent to live with her uncle that she has never met before. Now that she has met him, she has been on the ride of her life. Darcie isn't sure that she is ready to give it up. Will she go when she turns eighteen or will she stay?
1. Chapter 1: A New Life

Her mind was made up. There was no way in hell that she was getting out of the car. Legs and arms crossed, she sat there with her jaw locked in determination. Don't get her wrong. She loved being out of that house. But there is no way she was going to live with an uncle she had met before.

A man in a suit opened the car door. She didn't react. "Get out of the car." He ordered.

She shook her head.

"I told you to get out of the car."

"Make me," she growled.

He paused then suddenly he grabbed the back of her hoodie and shirt.

"Hey, what the hell?" She shouted. He yanked her out of the car. "You can't scruff me. I am not a dog." He put his forearm against her back shoving her forward. "I'm not going to live with him. No way. No how." She tried to fight him.

His companion opened the door to the flat building. They forced her up the first flight of stairs. She was shoved down on to the top step. Rolling her eyes, she stayed there with her arms folded.

The men knocked on a door with a number on it.

"Go away!" A stern voice called.

"Mr. Holmes," one of the suited men shouted back. "We are from the government. We wish to talk to you."

There was a pause. "If Mycroft sent you, beat it. I don't put up with idiots. Get lost."

She rolled her eyes. Her uncle must be a real fun guy. She did enjoy his style though. No government person should go through their day without being tormented at least once.

"We are here on behalf of your sister and brother-in-law."

There was an eerie silence on the other side. She could swear that she could cut the tension with a knife. When sound of a door opening hit her ears, she didn't turn to see.

"My sister has been dead for thirteen years. And I haven't spoke to my brother-in-law since the wedding which was sixteen years ago. Why would he send you?"

"Mr. Holmes, your brother-in-law was killed four months ago. He was killed by a hit and run driver." The government man pulled a piece of paper out of his coat pocket. "Your sister and her husband requested that, in the event of their deaths, their children would be sent to live with you. It took us forever to finally track you down."

She heard paper being yanked from someone's hands. "My sister died in childbirth." Mr. Holmes said. "They never had kids."

"They had one."

She finally stood and turned to face the door.

He stared at her. She was a small little thing. Skinny as a pencil, her dark hair stuck out at odd angles in loose curls. Unmanaged bangs covered her gray hazel eyes. She was dressed down in fitted jeans that still looked too big. A regular sweater covered a graphic tee that still hung out the bottom. On her feet was a pair of bright red converse.

"She can't stay." He turned to the men.

"You have no choice, Mr. Holmes. It was the request of your sister. By law, she's your responsibility now."

"I didn't sign for anything." He argued.

"Actually," the man told Sherlock pointing on the paper. "You did sign." He grabbed the girl by the jacket and pulled her forward. "We will bring her things around tomorrow."

She shrugged the man off. "Don't do me any favors."

They left the young scrawny girl and Sherlock alone to stare at each other. He didn't know what to make of this young girl standing at the top of the stairs.

She didn't know what to think of the man standing in the doorway. He was tall lean with high cheek bones. His hair was almost as curly as hers and almost as dark. His eyes reflected the same color as hers. Instead of being dressed down, he was dressed up in a suit shirt and pants.

She inhaled sharply. "Liquid Methane, Sulfur, Hydrogen Peroxide, what the hell are you doing in there?" She tried to look around him.

He was surprised at her. "An experiment," he watched her trying to see around him.

She stopped and stared at her again. "What's you name?"

"It's Sherlock." He answered still standing in the doorway. "I noticed on the paper that your mother didn't want Mycroft to be a major part of your life. She never did like him." He tried to chuckle remembering his sister.

His niece just blinked at him. "Are you ever going to let me in?"

"I'm still deciding that." He looked her up and down.

"You won't very much longer. You'll want to head back and check your experiment before something happens that you don't want to miss. That's why you were trying to get rid of the two idiots that left." She watched his mouth open then shut. He turned quickly away thinking that it would be best to ignore her.

She followed into the flat after him stepping through the threshold cautiously. Her father had never told her about her mother's family. Now that she was thinking about it, they never spoke about her mother either. Except for that one time when she asked where her mother was. It had been a one minute talk where he refused to talk more about her. Her father didn't really talk to her at all.

But looking around the small flat, she learned quite a bit. He didn't dust. _Maybe he's paranoid,_ she thought to herself. Dust lines would show if something had been moved. The walls were all one color but they were littered with tiny holes where pins had been stuck in. One end of the couch was more sunken in than the other end. _He's a thinker._

A violin sat in an armchair which had an accompanying chair across from it. _Oh good God, my parents sent me here. What the hell were they thinking? He lives alone, doesn't expect company often, and has an extra armchair. He ####### talks to himself._

The most unnerving thing was probably the skull sitting on the mantelpiece. "Uhmm…" She made a funny noise in the back of her throat.

"A friend of mine," Sherlock called from the kitchen.

She went into the kitchen to see a table littered with various science equipment: microscopes, microscope slides, watch glasses, peitre dishes, flasks filled with chemicals, and many more.

"I can't imagine your father said anything nice about me. I wouldn't expect him too either." He peered into a microscope and began moving down the line of them.

"My father never told me about you. After my mother died, he pretended that part of his life didn't exist." She picked up one of the flasks.

"How old are you?" Sherlock asked.

"Just turned fifteen a month ago," she shrugged casually.

He looked up. "That would have made you one or two when your mother died." He watched her waft a chemical to her nose.

"Yes, she died giving birth to my still born brother according to my father. He never really told me anything else." She swirled the watch glass.

Sherlock nodded slowly. They stood there a little longer. "What did Kathryn name you?" He asked knowing he would have to learn his niece's name at some point.

"Darcie," she answered somewhat proudly.

"Darcie, I'm not the easiest man to live with or put up with. I've been told many times that my social skills are somewhat lacking. But not really in those words."

"What do they normally say?" She asked rather curious.

"Piss off."

She cracked a small smile. "I do that you are a man of an unsocial disposition making you bad in social settings with other Humans. You're quite clever…hmmm…I'd say a science man. Emotions must mean nothing to you but as a weakness. But I saw you look at me earlier. You pitied me. I'll tell you what. I don't need your pity. I don't want your pity."

Sherlock stared at his niece with a new light. A small smile touched his lips. "God, if you knew how much you looked like your mother just then."

She stood a little straighter staring at him firmly. Sherlock stood and went to face her. "I'll tell you what. There's a couch with your name on it. There's only one bedroom I'm afraid. The rules are the following: don't bother me when I'm working, you're old enough to take care of yourself and always tell me where you are going before you leave."

"What if you're working?" She sassed cleverly.

He answered quickly. "Text me. I'll get the message eventually."

"What makes you think I have a phone?"

"I'll get you one."

"Don't do me any favors." She turned away.

Sherlock went into the living room. "The couch is all yours. Sorry if it's a bit uncomfortable."

A question burned in the back of Darcie's mind, two questions really. "Uncle," she started.

"Sherlock," he cut in.

"Sherlock, why are you being nice to me? I can tell that you aren't the nicest to others. Your doorbell is in mint condition so is the door paint. Your furniture has an uneven wear so you don't really entertain guests."

He tossed a pillow at her. "You mother was my favorite out of my siblings. Not only do you look like her, but I'm pretty sure that she would kick my ### if I wasn't slightly kind to you."

Darcie smiled into the pillow. "Sherlock," she started again.

"Yes," he said pulling his papers together.

"What was my mother like?"

He paused not knowing how to answer that. Sherlock glanced at the younger version of his sister. "The first thing I can say is look in the mirror. You look too much like her to not her daughter. I'd imagine that somewhere down in you there is some of your father but you are all your mother, Darcie." Sherlock stood and looked her straight in the eyes.

"I don't care about what she looks like since I figured that I did. My father never could look at me. Basic logic, I suppose." Darcie glanced around the flat.

Sherlock glanced at his watch. "It's late."

"It's only seven." Darcie whined. Her stomach growled.

"Didn't eat on your way over?" Sherlock said. She shook her head.

"The idiots wouldn't stop for food."

Sherlock grabbed his coat. "Come on. I have a discount at the restaurant.

"Coupons?" She guessed.

"No, I helped the owner go through a nasty trial." He slipped on his scarf on.

"Was he guilty and you made him look innocent?" Darcie followed after him.

"Oh God, yeah."

**I own nothing. Please enjoy this fanfiction!**


	2. Chapter 2: The Man Named John Watson

**Two Years Later**

"Would you mind passing me my phone?" His hand was extended to her. Fingers dances as he waited impatiently.

Darcie grabbed the phone from his trench coat pocket. "A text from Molly Hooper," she called to him.

"What's it say?" Sherlock dove deeper into his research.

Darcie opened the message. "A new body was brought it. You wanted to know. MH," she waited for Sherlock to reply but he kept looking in something. "Sherlock," she called.

"Head for the morgue, tell Molly I'll be down in a minute." Sherlock ordered.

Darcie rolled her eyes. Pulling out her phone, she put his next to him. Just as she was walking out the door, his phone vibrated. "Darcie", Sherlock caught her before she left.

"Yes, Sherlock," she popped her head back in fake goofy grin.

"There's no need to text me when I ask you to go somewhere."

"I know. I was just having fun." Darcie teased and left there. She went through the hallways till she found the morgue.

She entered the find a tiled room with several operation tables. One had a black bag placed on it. A woman with long sandy brown hair stood next to it with a clipboard. She turned to see Darcie walking towards her.

"Oh hello," she said slightly nervously.

"Molly Hooper," Darcie asked.

"Yes," she said startled. "Who are you?"

"The name is Darcie." She hopped up on to an operating table. "Darcie Richards," she extended her hand to Molly.

Molly took her hand and instead of shaking it, Darcie looked at it. "He'll be down in a moment till then…" She smelt Molly's wrist.

"Who…what are you doing?"

"Chanel, tabby cat, you don't play any instruments, well not anymore," Darcie whispered. "Not very well manicured nails, you're a hard worker. There's no time for luxury things. Small bit of arthritis in the wrist," Darcie turned to Molly's face. "Book reader, my guess is you prefer non fiction but will enjoy the occasional romance novel." Darcie's eyes went all over her now. "You live alone, like Chinese take out, and favorite piece of jewelry is the man's wedding ring on a chain. My good guess someone close to you who passed away. More likely your dad than a husband, you've never been married or engaged, No current boyfriend but a crush, you just reapplied…lip stick…" Darcie stopped.

Molly was staring at her rather shocked. "Only one person I know can do what you just did. And he…"

The door opened and Sherlock walked in. Darcie noticed Molly's eyes dilated. _Mystery solved._ Darcie watched her uncle walk over to the body.

Unzipping, he peered at the body.

"He was brought in an hour ago."

"How fresh?" Sherlock asked.

"Sixty-seven, natural causes. He used to work here. I knew him. He was nice."

Darcie smiled to herself. She knew exactly what Sherlock wanted with the body. "Fine," Sherlock straightened and falsely smiled. "We'll start with a riding crop."

She fought back laughter at Molly's face. But she managed to help Sherlock get the body. While Molly went to the observation, Darcie stayed watching Sherlock beat the hell out of the corpse. Darcie did glance at Molly who did wince but was still smiling in admiration. Molly had a crush on Sherlock; there was no doubt.

Sherlock finally finished out of breath, "Pen and my notepad," he reached to Darcie who granted his request.

Molly came down. "So, bad day, was it?" She bantered lightly.

Sherlock chose to ignore that comment. He wrote down a few things as he gave Molly some instructions. "I need to know bruises that form in the next twenty minutes. A man's alibi depends on it. Text me."

Molly opened her mouth. _First mistake_, Darcie thought. "Listen, I was wondering. Maybe later, when you're finished…"

Sherlock noticed the second coat of lipstick. "Are you wearing lipstick? You weren't lipstick before."

Darcie looked to Molly curious how she would reply. "I, eh, I refreshed it a bit."

Back to Sherlock, he stared oblivious to her flirtatious smile. After an uncomfortable second, he returned to writing. "Sorry, you were saying."

"I was wondering if you wanted to get coffee." She looked nervously.

Tucking the notebook away, he replied. "Black, two sugars, please. I'll be upstairs." And with that, he walked out.

Darcie smiled. "I'll take a black, no sugar." With that, Darcie got down and rushed after Sherlock.

She found Sherlock back where they had started. He dropped a few drops of a liquid into a Petri dish. Before Darcie could get the chance to speak, there was a knock at the door. Mike walked in with another man right behind him.

Sherlock glanced over and then he returned to his work. Darcie continued to watch the stranger limp in. He glanced around at the equipment.

Darcie smiled. _A new victim,_ she mischievously thought. His hair was like an army style. When he stopped moving, he stood ramrod straight without a hint of a limp. Tan lines, he just returned from the war. Who knew which? His hands were coarse but very skilled. She never got to finish because he spoke.

"Well, bit different from my day."

He worked here.

"You have no idea," Mike chuckled.

Sherlock dropped some mixture on a slid. Sitting down, he called Mike. "Mike, can I borrow your phone? There's no signal on mine."

"And what's wrong with the land line?" Mike raised an eyebrow.

"I prefer text." Darcie nodded to that.

"Sorry," Mike said. "I left it in my coat."

"Eh, here," The stranger spoke, "Use mine."

Sherlock a bit surprised answered. "Oh, thank you." Sherlock looked to Mike curious about the stranger. Darcie was curious too.

"Who's your friend, Mike?" She asked.

"It's an old friend of mine, John Watson." Mike introduced.

"I see." Darcie moved grabbing the phone passing it to Sherlock.

Sherlock instantly started texting, "Afghanistan or Iraq?"

Darcie smirked. John glanced at Mike who smiled smugly. "Sorry?"

"Afghanistan or Iraq, it is a simple question." Darcie put in.

Afghanistan, sorry, how did you know…?"

Molly walked in with two coffees, "Ah, Molly, coffee. Thank you." He took the cups handing Darcie's hers. He stopped noticing the lipstick gone. "What happened to the lipstick?"

She tried to play it off with a smile. "It wasn't working for me."

Sherlock still oblivious let his mouth run. "Really? I thought it was a bog improvement. Your mouth's too small now." He walked back to his spot. He grimaced at the taste of his coffee.

"Okay," she said a little heart broken. She left the room. John watched after hoping she was okay.

"How do you feel about the violin?" Sherlock shot casually.

"I'm sorry, what?" John snapped back to reality.

"He plays it all the time." Darcie put in making John look at her for the first time.

"Do you rent a flat there too?" John asked.

"No, she lives with me. I play the violin when I'm thinking. Sometimes I don't talk for days on end." He straightened from bending over the computer. "Would it bother you? Potential flatmates should know the worst about each other." He faked smiled at John.

_Potential flatmates?_ Darcie's eyebrows came together.

John turned to Mike. "Oh, you… you told him about me?"

"As if," Darcie huffed.

"Not a word," Mike spoke over her.

"Then who said anything about flatmates?" John contradicted.

"He did."

"I did."

Sherlock slipped on his coat, "Told Mike this morning that I must be a difficult man to find a flatmate for."

"He's got that right. I was forced to live with him." Sherlock shot Darcie a dirty look.

"Now here he is just after lunch with an old friend clearly just home from military service in Afghanistan. Wasn't that difficult of a leap."

"How did you know about Afghanistan?"

Sherlock only ignored him and put on his scarf. He then tossed Darcie her coat. "I all ready have a place picked out. Together we should afford it. Darcie will be with us as well." Darcie gave a small wave. "We'll meet there tomorrow evening; seven o'clock. Sorry – gotta dash. I think I left my riding crop in the mortuary."

As the two tried to leave, John called to them. "Is that it?"

Sherlock took a step back. "Is that what?"

"We've only just met and we're gonna go and share a flat?" John looked between Darcie and Sherlock.

"Problem?" Darcie shrugged.

John smiled in disbelief. "We don't know a thing about each other. I don't know where we're meeting. I don't even know your name."

"I know you're an army doctor and you've been invalided home from Afghanistan. I know you've got a brother who's worried about you but you won't go to him for help because you don't approve of him. Possibly because he's an alcoholic; more likely because he just walked out on his wife. And I know your therapist thinks your limp is psychosomatic – quite correct, I'm afraid."

John looked at his feet awkwardly.

"That's enough to going with, don't you think?" Sherlock opened the door then as an after thought, he poked his head back in. "The name is Sherlock Holmes and the address is 221 B Baker Street." He click winked at John. "Afternoon," he disappeared through the door his niece on his heels.

"Random question but why do you keep doing that?" Darcie asked keeping up with Sherlock. "To Molly, what you did to her? You know with Molly likes you…painfully so, but still."

"Does she?" He asked tightening his scarf.

"God, are you really that thick?" Darcie face palmed. "And when were you going to tell me that we were moving?"

"I thought we discussed this yesterday." He popped his collar.

"I wasn't even home yesterday!"

"Not my fault you weren't listening.

Darcie rolled her eyes. "God, after two years, you think I'd be used to this. I can't wait to get home and go to sleep."

"About that," Sherlock started.

Darcie, not too surprised, rolled her eyes. "What is it now?"

"Your couch is all ready at the new flat."

Darcie followed Sherlock out the front door. "What?" He tried to avoid her eye as he hailed a cab. "You moved us out all ready? Damn it, Sherlock! I wasn't able to go home last night because you had us spend the night at Bart's Bloody Hospital. How the hell was I supposed to know anything?"

"You're getting too worked over it." Sherlock got into the cab Darcie following.

"So glad you're not." She whispered sarcastically and the cab drove them to their now empty flat.


	3. Chapter 3: New Flat New Case

A great majority of the day was spent at Bart's Hospital. Sherlock had been there longer than Darcie since she slept in a little longer. About six fifteen, Darcie threw the navy scarf at Sherlock.

"Come on," Darcie called. "We are supposed to meet John at seven."

"One minute," Sherlock muttered still sitting there with his scarf hanging off his head and shoulder.

Darcie watched him stay there for twenty more minutes. All the while, Darcie was calling his name in different voices and styles. "Sherlock… sherLock… SHerLock… Sir Lock of the Shers… Dipstick… Peabrain… SHERlock… Purple people eater…"

Deciding that wouldn't work, she moved to his side. "Sherlock," She poked his shoulder. No response, "Oi, Sherlock," she poked his cheek. That didn't work either.

Without another word, she grabbed the slide and hurled it across the room. It shattered against the wall. Darcie turned to Sherlock who was now watching her.

"Why did you do that?" Sherlock growled.

"You said one minute; it's been twenty. Come on, we've got to go meet John." She handed him his coat.

They headed hailing a cab. As they sat there, Sherlock decided to speak. "You didn't have to break the slide, Darcie."

"Yes, I did. You were ignoring me." Darcie casually commented.

"I was working." He looked out the window as the cab turned on to Baker Street.

"Don't care," Darcie got off the car to see John at the door of 221.

"John," Sherlock greeted after paying the cabbie. "Thank you."

"Ah, Mr. Holmes," John came towards the two dressed in trench coats.

"Sherlock, please," Sherlock shook hands with John who then reached to Darcie.

"Darcie," greeted.

"Doctor Watson," she smiled.

"Well, this is a prime spot. Must be expensive," John turned his attention to the building.

"Oh, Mrs. Hudson, the landlady, she's giving me a special deal. She owes me a favor. A few years back, her husband got himself sentenced to death in Florida. I was able to help out." Sherlock knocked on the door.

"Sorry, you stopped her husband being executed?" John readjusted his cane.

"Oh no, I ensured it." Sherlock and Darcie smiled at John just as the door opened.

"Sherlock," an older woman exclaimed, "Darcie!"

"Hello, Mrs. H," Darcie greeted with a hug and Sherlock gave a brief one.

"Mrs. Hudson, Doctor Watson," he gestured to John.

"Hello," she smiled brightly.

"How do you?" John shook her hand.

"Oh come in," Mrs. Hudson gestured everyone in.

"Thanks," John looked down at his feet.

"Shall we?" Sherlock disappeared inside with Darcie by his side.

Darcie was first up the stairs with Sherlock, John and, Mrs. Hudson behind her. She waited for Mrs. Hudson to unlock the door. John finally got to the top just as Darcie opened the door.

She stepped in with Sherlock and John followed in. Darcie had to admit one thing. It certainly was a lot nicer than where they had previously been staying.

"Well, this could be very nice. Very nice indeed," John broke the silence.

Darcie began going through the boxes. _Where was her stuff?_

"Yes, yes, I think so." Sherlock looked around happily, "My thoughts precisely. So I went straight ahead and moved in."

John stopped speaking about cleaning the flat out. He realized that the so called "rubbish" was Sherlock's stuff. "So this is all…"

"He'll straighten up." Darcie promised shooting a look at Sherlock. He sent her a glare and tried to pull his things together. Darcie straightened. "So, Sherlock, where's my stuff?" She stacked a nearby box onto a different one.

"The top flat," Sherlock answered, "The area above John's, if he takes it."

"Wonderful," she sighed.

"That's a skull." John interrupted pointing out the skull on the mantelpiece.

"Glad he found a place for it finally," Darcie complained.

"Friend of mine," Sherlock said cutting across Darcie. "When I say 'friend'…"

Mrs. Hudson walked in bringing in a tray with tea set. "What do you think, then, Doctor Watson? There's another bedroom upstairs below Darcie's if you'll need two bedrooms."

Darcie chuckled to herself.

"Of course we will need two," John defended.

"Oh don't worry; there's all sorts round here." She leaned in and whispered. "Mrs. Turner next door's got married ones."

John looked to Sherlock then Darcie. He wanted them to confirm that Sherlock and he weren't gay. Sherlock remained oblivious but Darcie came to John's rescue.

"I don't think we'll have to worry about any of that, Mrs. H." She winked at John who smiled in gratitude.

"Live and let live," Mrs. Hudson dismissed them heading into the kitchen. "Oh, Sherlock, look at the mess you've made."

Darcie followed her into the kitchen. John fell into an armchair heavily. Sherlock remained in the main room. "Mrs. H," Darcie spoke to the landlady quiet enough that Sherlock, who was talking to John, couldn't hear. "Thanks for helping Sherlock out."

"Don't be silly, dear." She sighed. "If you and Sherlock hadn't helped, I'd be stuck with that horrible man."

Darcie smiled as Mrs. Hudson returned to the living room with her addition of the newspaper. "What about these suicides then, Sherlock? I thought they'd be right up your street, three exactly the same."

Wanting to see the view, Darcie pulled back the curtains. "Four," she said seeing a car pull up to the curb.

Sherlock joined her to see Lestrade exiting the vehicle. "There's been a fourth. And there's something different this time."

"I'd say so." Darcie turned to face John.

"A fourth?" Mrs. Hudson whined worried.

Lestrade suddenly appeared at the top of the stairs.

"Where?" Sherlock wanted to get through this quick.

"Brixton, Lauriston Gardens," Lestrade breathed heavily.

"What's new about this one?" Darcie cut in.

"You know how they never leave note?" Lestrade managed to get his breath.

"Yeah," Sherlock and Darcie said at the same time.

"This one did. Will you come?"

"Who's on forensics?" It was a good question. Darcie knew Sherlock was particular about who he had to work with. He didn't play well with others…especially ones who bugged him.

"It's Anderson."

"Lord, give me strength." Darcie said in disgust.

"Anderson won't work with me," Sherlock grimaced in agreement with Darcie.

"Well, he won't be your assistant."

"Will you come?"

Sherlock looked at Darcie. She smiled and shrugged like "what are you going to do about it".

"Not in a police car, I'll be right behind." Sherlock turned his back and went to the window.

"Thank you," Lestrade turned to leave.

"Later, Lestrade," Darcie called after him.

Once Lestrade arrived outside, Sherlock leapt into the air with clenched fists. He twirled happily. "Brilliant! Yes! Ah, four serial suicides, and now a note! Oh it's Christmas!"

Darcie held out Sherlock's scarf and coat. He took his scarf putting it on. Sherlock slipped the coat on as he went into the kitchen. "Mrs. Hudson, I'll be late. Might need some food."

"I'm your landlady, dear, not your housekeeper." Mrs. Hudson said.

"Something cold will do. John, have a cup of tea, make yourself at home. Don't wait up!" He turned to Darcie. "Come on, Darcie."

She followed him to the bottom of the stairs. He noticed she wasn't wearing her coat. "Not coming," he stated.

"There's a lot of unpacking to do. Just send me some pictures. I'll try to help out from here. I'll stock the fridge." Darcie messed with her fingers trying to seen preoccupied.

"Fine," Sherlock said. He handed her his card.

"Take John with you. He could help." She suggested.

Sherlock stopped hand on the door. She could see his mind working overtime. "I'll be in my room if you need me."

As she headed up the second flight of stairs, she heard Sherlock talking to John in the flat below. Upon arriving at her flat, she could see that the wallpaper wasn't as cool as Sherlock's but it was all hers. Darcie didn't have to sleep on the couch anymore. Mrs. Hudson had actually given her a bed…a real bed.

Her boxes were piled on a simple bed. It was nice getting to relax for a change instead of running everywhere. She had the chance to just be alone. Organizing her books, she out them in the shelves.

"Wo ho," Mrs. Hudson knocked on the door. "How about a cuppa? John and Sherlock left."

"Thank you," Darcie accepted it. She tasted it. "Oh, did you put sugar in it?" She asked.

"No, I thought you didn't like sugar your tea." Mrs. Hudson took the cup back.

"That's my coffee that I don't take sugar." Darcie returned to work.

"It's funny the things you forget." Mrs. Hudson sighed.

Darcie turned back to her. "Hey, it's oaky. Don't worry about it." She rested her hand on Mrs. Hudson's shoulder.

"You've grown up so much from that 15 year old girl that I first met. I can't believe you have to live with him till you're old enough to leave." She sighed. "I can't imagine the things he's been teaching you."

"Actually, I've enjoyed being with him. I never got to see my mother's side. Don't tell him but he's wonderful and a good man." Darcie released Mrs. Hudson's shoulder.

They kept working but the silence was broken by Mrs. Hudson. "What's this?"

Darcie looked over. Mrs. Hudson was holding a photograph. The picture was of a newly wedded couple smiling at the camera. "That's my parents." Darcie's voice broke taking the photo from her. "Sherlock gave it to me saying that he didn't need it to remember her." She looked at the woman in the photo. Her hair matched Darcie's. She was her mother's daughter through and through.

"I miss them." Darcie confessed.

Mrs. Hudson opened her mouth but Darcie's phone went off. She pulled it out. "Sherlock needs me. Thanks for helping."


	4. Chapter 4: Callin' a Killer

"I really hope this isn't your idea of a fun evening." Darcie called from a nearby dumpster.

Sherlock stood his head poking out of another dumpster. "It's for a case, Darcie."

"Remind me what the hell I am looking for in the garbage?" Darcie tossed a bag to the other side.

"A pink travel case."

"Not really your style," Darcie teased.

"It was the victim's. She left it with a murderer. He must have realized it then disposed of it."

She hopped out and headed for the next dumpster. "Hey, Sherlock, I think I found it."

He was over there like a shot from a gun. At the top of the garbage, a solitary pink travel case sat there waiting for someone to find it. "Finally," Sherlock said cheerfully. He reached in and pulled it out.

"Brilliant," he set it down and unzipped it digging through the contents.

Darcie peered over his shoulder. When she saw him dig past everything, she made her own guess. "No phone," she whispered.

"She must have lost it." Sherlock pinched his eyes shut trying to think.

"Call it," Darcie suggested.

Sherlock opened his mouth then quickly zipped it back up and flipped it over. There was an identification card. "I'll explain more on the way."

One cab ride and an explanation later, Darcie found herself pacing the floor and Sherlock on the couch thinking three patches of nicotine on his arm. She stopped looking at him. "I must point out that you do look ridiculous. You're doing your praying otter."

"Praying otter," Sherlock's eyebrow raised.

"It's a thing you do when you are thinking too much like right now." Sherlock's eyebrows were still together. She sighed, "Whatever. Do you think John will actually come?"

That's when the door downstairs slammed shut. "Never mind." She whispered.

John saw Sherlock on the couch. "What are you doing?"

"Nicotine patch… helps me think," Sherlock spoke calmly fingers against his mouth. He slid his sleeve up to reveal three pushing it to release more substances, "Impossible to sustain a smoking habit in London these days, bad news for brain work."

"It's good news for breathing."

"Oh, breathing, breathing's boring."

"Three patches," John asked.

"It's a three patch problem." He returned to 'praying otter' position.

"Mind lending me one?" Darcie asked. Sherlock tossed her one. Without looking, she caught it.

"Whoa, how old are you?" John called her.

"I'm seventeen, grandpa." She stuck the patch on her forearm. "I'm old enough to have a nicotine patch."

It was silent for a while till John looked to Sherlock saying, "Well?" Sherlock didn't answer. "You asked me to come. I'm assuming it's important."

Darcie pointed at Sherlock as she continued to pace, "He texted you, not me."

"Oh, yeah, of course," Sherlock opened his eyes. "Can I borrow your phone?"

"My phone?" John's eyebrow rose.

"Don't wanna use mine. Always a chance that the number will be recognized, it's on the website."

"Mrs. Hudson has a phone."

"She wouldn't answer Sherlock's yells. I don't blame her either." Darcie cut in.

John started to become angry. "I was on the other side of London."

"There was no hurry," Sherlock assured him. Darcie could see why Sherlock was fascinated by John. Sherlock had texted John "COULD BE DANGEROUS" yet John came.

Darcie glanced at John's hand. They were steady and still. He was calm and poised. Normal people would at least be nervous and scared or at least wouldn't have come. John missed the adrenalin.

"Just met a friend of yours." John's statement broke Darcie's concentration.

"A friend?" Darcie and Sherlock confused spoke.

"An enemy."

Sherlock relaxed. "Oh, which one?"

"Your arch-enemy, according to him. Do people actually have arch-enemies?" He asked Darcie who rolled her eyes. She knew who John was speaking of.

"Did he offer you money to spy on me?" Sherlock asked slightly excited.

"Yes," John replied.

"Did you take it?"

"No."

"Pity, we could have split the fee. Think it through next time."

Darcie chuckled.

"Who is he?" John seemed concerned.

"The most dangerous man you've ever met, and not really my problem right now," Sherlock changed his tone. "On my desk, there's a number."

Darcie's phone went off. "It's Molly." Sherlock looked over mildly curious. "Hello," she answered.

"I thought this was Sherlock. Who is this?" Molly spoke.

"No," Darcie shot Sherlock a glance saying that they would have words later. She moved to the kitchen to not disturb anymore of Sherlock's work. "It's Darcie."

"Well, a body was brought in and I thought he'd like to see it since the file has his name in it."

Darcie put her hand on her hip thinking. "Sherlock's busy with another case. I'll come down and check it out."

"But I really think that Sherlock –"

"No, Molly, he can't. I'll just have to come down and check it over. I'll be there in a few." Darcie hung up looking to see Sherlock grabbing his coat.

"You coming with us?" Sherlock said slipping his coat on.

"I'm afraid not. Molly called say that a body was brought in and your name is in the file." Sherlock turned to her in slightly puzzlement. "I told her you were on a case and I would check it over."

Sherlock watched Darcie grab her coat from the nearby stool. "All right, text me if you need help."

"Will do," she went with Sherlock and John outside and they traveled their separate ways.

Molly greeted Darcie at the entrance of the morgue. "Darcie," she opened the door.

Darcie cut her off. "Tell me what we've got."

"Uhmm… female, Caucasian," Molly started but she then saw Darcie's hand reaching out for the file. "And you don't want to hear it from me."

"Molly, I might be here for a while. Could you get me a coffee, preferably black no sugar, please?"

"Yeah, sure," she left the room leaving Darcie to her work.

Flipping open the file, she scanned the contents. The woman had died giving birth to a stillborn child. She was 19 with a frail body. Unlike most pregnant women, she didn't gain weigh leaving her underweight. Complications killed her.

Darcie stopped. She had seen something like this before. Her own mother. She put down the file and examined the body. The woman's hair was blonde but it was dyed obvious by the darker roots. The face was slender and beautiful. She looked for more clues. The more Darcie dug the more similarities the woman had with her mother.

She called Sherlock knowing he would want to see this. He didn't answer. Looking at the screen, she checked the time. It was a few minutes after midnight; the date had changed. "It's my birthday," she whispered sadly.

The only thing that was different about this woman and her mother was the lack of a tattoo on the inside of the left upper arm. It had to be coincidence. Same blood type, hair color, figure, height. Darcie took pictures in time for Molly to visit a fifth time.

"Did you find anything?" Molly asked.

Darcie pinched her eyes shut. "The still born, was it a boy or a girl?"

"It was a boy." Molly confused continued. "I fail to see how it is relevant to the case at hand."

Darcie pulled out her phone again. "It has everything to with the case at hand."

"Who are you calling?"

"Sherlock," Darcie looked Molly right in her eyes. "You were right that he would want to look this over."

"I was?" Molly asked unsure.

"Very," she heard Sherlock pick up. "Sherlock, you're going to want to get over here."

Sherlock moved the dead woman's left arm. Darcie was glad that he got there fast. The sooner Sherlock could answer the questions the safer everyone was.

He hadn't spoken to her since he got there. He would mutter to himself but he spoke too fast for Darcie to understand what he said.

Molly watch fascinated but was surprised when he spoke to her. "Thank you, Molly, for bring this to our attention."

Darcie chased after him into the hallway where he stood looking out of the window. "So is that it?"

"Is what it?" He was deep in thought.

"Is it just a coincidence?"

"What have we said about those?"

Darcie turned her gaze to the city outside. "The universe isn't that lazy." It was one of the first things he taught her.

"Why was my name on the file?" He thought out loud. "What was the woman's name?"

"I think it was…My God. It was Kathy." Darcie looked to her uncle and guardian.

They stood there in silence till Sherlock whispered, "So are you going to leave?"

"What?"

"You're eighteen now. You could leave now if you want." Sherlock didn't dare look at his niece that had been his friend for a few years.

Darcie knew it was a true fact. She had every right now to leave like she once threatened that first week. She smiled. Things changed. "You know," her voice startled him. "They don't have to know I'm eighteen. I could stick around a bit longer."

She caught him smiling out of the corner of her eye. Neither one of them wanted to admit they enjoyed each other's company. Besides, they both wanted to make up for lost time that they never got to have in her younger days.

"I told John it was your birthday. That's why he didn't come. I think he went to get you a present."

They chuckled. To them, a birthday was just another day. "Maybe you should get me one too." She teased.

"Maybe I should." He ruffled her hair. "Maybe I should. Come on, let's go home."


End file.
